


I'm Here Again (Where Have You Been?)

by aredblush, triggeringthehealing (froggydarren)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, FBI Agent Stiles Stilinski, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Spark Stiles Stilinski, minor Sheriff Stilinski/Melissa McCall/Chris Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aredblush/pseuds/aredblush, https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/triggeringthehealing
Summary: There was nothing left in Beacon Hills to hold Derek, not once the hunters were chased off, and Gerard was out of the picture. Sure, there would always be problems cropping up, but the town wasn't home to him, not anymore. After the final fight, he left, though this time he didn't cut all ties with the people who fought by his side.Of all those people, the one whose path seemed to continue crossing with Derek's was inevitably Stiles.Partnering up for cases led by the FBI, getting in touch for when Scott needed help, it wasn't like Derek minded that Stiles could find him, no matter what. The only thing he didn't expect was for his feelings to get involved. After all, he spent long enough trying to pretend they didn't exist.He also didn't think he'd go back to Beacon Hills for anything but pack-related reasons.





	I'm Here Again (Where Have You Been?)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [12 Days of Sterek](http://12daysofsterek.tumblr.com) 2017\. 
> 
> Thanks to [Nas](http://aredblush.tumblr.com) for the amazing inspiration of her art (embedded within the story). You're a gem, darling, and I can't thank you enough for playing along again this year :D
> 
> Rebloggable post on tumblr [can be found here](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/post/168782170919/12daysofsterek-author-froggydarren-art).

When he left Beacon Hills, he wasn’t the only one. Almost all of them did, after the fight with Gerard, after Kate’s last appearance, after the _war_. Not right away, no, but eventually they all packed whatever remaining possessions they had, and said their goodbyes. 

Sure, most of them would be coming back sometimes, Derek knew that. He just wasn’t one of them, because he had nothing to come back to, not anymore. Not when the old house was torn down, the building with the loft sold again, and the last of his ties to the town driving off in the baby blue Jeep towards the east coast. 

Peter was long gone by the time Derek shipped the few leftover boxes to New York, by the time he had Deaton change the way the vault could be accessed so Scott wouldn’t need any of the Hales. Cora never even considered setting foot back there, and with Derek driving past the town limits, Beacon Hills was officially Scott’s to take care of. 

“You’re welcome anytime,” Derek heard in phone calls and read in emails, but it wasn’t where he felt at home anymore. 

Not that there was a place that he’d call home, but it didn’t feel like after the fire, it didn’t feel like running. He was Scott’s lookout, moving around the country and keeping an eye on chatter in the supernatural circles, watching out for unusual spikes in activity that seemed like hunters. Mysterious disappearances, high amount of gun purchases, children who couldn’t deal after dropped into the system. 

It was easier with multiple contacts in various agencies — John Stilinski with his contacts in the police force around the country, Rafa McCall high up in the FBI, Stiles…. 

Stiles everywhere, it seemed. No matter where Derek moved, no matter how low a profile he kept, Stiles always knew how to get in touch. 

Derek didn’t fight it. He would have, had it been before the final fight, or before that night in Mexico when he technically died. After, though, after was different. 

When Stiles tracked Derek down and they came back to Beacon Hills together to help Scott, their relationship shifted into something that neither of them bothered to define. No one else knew either, as far as Derek was aware, about it being something other than slightly reluctant partnership. Sure, when Lydia and Stiles decided to stay friends instead of trying to make their relationship work, there were a few suspicious glances pointed at Derek and Stiles, but no one asked Derek outright. Stiles didn’t mention anything either, and _they_ didn’t talk about what they were, or where their relationship was going. 

They didn’t meet a lot, but with Derek’s reconnaissance missions and Stiles’s input from the FBI side, they ran into each other sometimes. There were times when it was accidental, then others when it was for a purpose. All of the meetings were cordial but brief, focused on whatever or whomever they were trying to track down at the time.

Until one night in New York. 

-*-*-*-

It was not by accident that Stiles was there that evening. They had been on assignment the week before, and had wrapped up just that morning. The evening was their celebration of a successfully closed case, a hunter clan brought to justice after tracking it and gathering evidence for months. It was their night off, along with a few of Stiles’s colleagues from his team, and Lydia who was called in for her language expertise during the case. 

Derek only planned to stick around for a drink or two, then disappear to not raise suspicions with some of the team who weren’t aware of the werewolf side of things. He had zero intentions to stay, to drink anything that would actually work on him — he would never be comfortable with things that inhibited his reactions or thinking — and he most definitely didn’t plan to _dance_. 

And yet, when Lydia excused herself before they even got to the club, supposedly to go work on something that Derek didn’t understand, and when Stiles’s co-workers called to say they were heading to a different club than the one that Stiles and Derek were already in, that was where he ended up. On the dance floor, back plastered against Stiles’s chest, Stiles’s long fingers hooked in the loops of Derek’s jeans. They weren’t even dancing, just swaying slowly to the music, barely following the rhythm of it. 

“This is nice,” Stiles muttered into Derek’s ear, his breath sending shivers down Derek’s spine.

There was the distinct smell of alcohol infused in Stiles’s breath, but Derek knew it was a while since Stiles had a drink. He wasn’t any more drunk than Derek himself. That alone was confusing, because in all the years that they’ve known each other, Stiles never showed any interest in Derek. 

_That’s a lie_ , Derek thought. 

Because yes, years ago, way back when Derek didn’t allow himself to think about Stiles in any way other than a friend at most, he was aware of Stiles being physically attracted to him. Only, he always assumed that it was nothing but being a teenager, discovering all different possibilities of sexuality. And it wasn’t like Derek ever pretended to not know that others found him attractive — after all, he used that very thing to his advantage sometimes. 

This, though, this didn’t feel like Stiles exploring his options. Derek knew already that Stiles was openly bi, much as himself. He remembered Stiles mentioning one night stands, but no long-term partners, which made sense at the time. Neither of them had much time to nurture relationships, their work simply didn’t allow them enough time to go on dates or spend uninterrupted time with someone. And Derek knew that the FBI didn’t look too keenly on relationships within a team. 

“It is,” Derek said, very much too late. “It’s nice.” 

“You’re thinking too much,” Stiles mumbled, only audible to Derek’s ears. “That’s usually my thing.”

“Who says?” Derek asked, letting the corner of his lips curl. 

“I said _usually_ , not always,” Stiles told him.

His fingers twitched against Derek’s hips, under Derek’s palms — he didn’t even know he put his hands on top of Stiles’s. 

“So….” 

Stiles paused, waited until Derek turned his head to the side and looked over his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” 

“You wanna stay another while, or….”

“Get out of here?” Derek finished the thought that Stiles didn’t. 

A nod later they were on their way out, and heading to the hotel where they both were staying during the mission, rooms booked for a few extra days after wrapping as usual. Stiles and the rest of the team were always given recovery days unless there was something urgent that they needed to be on the move for, and Derek sometimes stuck around too. He was glad that this was one of the times, though he had to admit that his reasons had more to do with the city and less with the need to recuperate. 

After all, this was New York, and it had been his home for some time after the fire. His and Laura’s. 

“You okay?” Stiles asked as they walked away from the club.

“Yeah,” Derek said quickly, maybe a little _too_ fast if Stiles’s dubious expression was anything to go by. “It’s just, I remember this place,” he nodded towards a bakery across the street. “It was Laura’s favorite.” 

“Oh,” Stiles said quietly, almost apologetically. 

Then he reached out and slipped his hand into Derek’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was just enough to make Derek’s heart beat louder for a moment, though he didn’t do anything to reciprocate the gesture. 

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and barely spoke once they reached the hotel. Without exchanging more than a few words, they found themselves in Derek’s room, kissing fervently the moment that the door clicked closed. 

In the morning, Stiles was gone, and Derek’s phone screen was filled with details of his own next assignment. For the next few months, he didn’t get a chance to try and contact Stiles at all, because he went deep undercover with a pack in Alaska. When he finally finished up there, he was sent abroad almost immediately, and didn’t return to American soil for almost two years.

-*-*-*-

[Present day]

Derek isn’t sure why he’s drawn to Beacon Hills, why he feels like he has to go there. He could just as easily reach out through the agency, and it wouldn’t at all be suspicious if he wanted to know how Stiles is doing. And yet he doesn’t feel like it’s the right thing to do.

In some ways, he expected to find messages from Stiles when he finally flew back from London, his last stop on the assignment that had him spend time in Europe. It was more of a surprise that there weren’t any than it was to be told that he wouldn’t be assigned to any cases for a while. Sure, the chase for the remnants of the Argent clan took longer than anyone expected, and required more assistance than Derek’s superiors planned, but he still came out mostly unscathed. The biggest toll came from meeting up with not only Jackson but also Isaac — the two remaining Betas from the excuse for a pack that Derek had when he was an Alpha the first time. 

Amends were made, slowly and painstakingly, with both of them. And when Derek took down the Alpha of a violent pack a few months before the end of his assignment, and his eyes glowed red yet again, both Isaac and Jackson acknowledged him as their Alpha again. 

So now he has a pack that is scattered around the world. Cora still belongs, but she’s not budging from the Brazilian pack she’d found shelter with after the fire and returned to after her brief visit to Beacon Hills. Jackson and Ethan are settled and happy in London with Danny — Derek isn’t trying to unravel that one — while Isaac found refuge with Chris’s distant non-hunter family in France, and he’s too busy with college there. 

_Something is missing_ , Derek thinks for the umpteenth time as he crosses yet another state line between New York and California. 

He’s willing to admit that he’s missed Stiles. Not only as a partner on the job, but also as a friend. He is _not_ willing to dive into the possibilities that the one night in New York could have led to. Sure, he’s aware of them, and at that point he was more than willing to at the very least _try_ , but it’s been years, and he doesn’t want to hope that Stiles would still be there, be available, and be interested. If he even was interested in more than the one night in the first place back then.

When he drives through town, it’s almost on auto-pilot. Years spent in Beacon Hills have the streets and houses stuck in his brain, even though he didn’t need to call up the information since he left. It means that he arrives at the Stilinski house faster than he thought he would. 

With the Camaro stopped in the street, Derek wonders if there’s still time to change his mind. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement from the front of the house. When he turns to look properly, he can see the curtain moving in one of the windows, giving away that he’s been spotted and it definitely is too late to drive away again. Even if it’s not the Sheriff’s house anymore, whoever saw him will probably call the station if he leaves. 

So, with a heavy sigh, Derek turns off the engine and slowly gets out. The few yards that he walks towards the front door feel ominous, terrifying. If it’s John who’s behind the door, Derek wonders if he can even begin to explain why he’s here now, looking for Stiles. If it’s someone else, he’ll probably have to explain who he is to start with, and that’s another minefield he’s not eager to walk into. 

“Stop being a chicken,” he mutters to himself as he walks up the steps. “Just ask if he’s home, or where he is. Or say hello.” 

He’s lifting his hand to knock on the door when it opens, and an amused John Stilinski stands there, looking right at Derek. 

“Derek,” he says, nodding in greeting.

“Sheriff,” Derek says, immediately cringing, because he remembers several conversations that included the request from the Sheriff to call him John. 

“Is this an ‘old habits die hard’ situation,” John starts with a smile, then his eyes narrow. “Or should I be worried that you’ve been time traveling again?” 

“Old habit,” Derek tells him, maybe a little too fast. 

The flashback to that particular adventure is not pleasant though. 

“Would you like to come in?” John asks, relief clear in his face. “Melissa should be home soon too, if you’ve got the time to wait. Are you…?”

“I’m in no rush,” Derek lies, and again shrinks under John’s disbelieving look. 

“Maybe not to get out of town,” John says. “But that was not entirely the truth either.”

It’s Derek’s turn to narrow his eyes, suspicion making his senses jump to attention. 

“You’d have known if I was bitten,” John answers the question that Derek didn’t ask. “You’re forgetting that I’m still an investigator, son.”

There’s fondness in his face, a soft smile tugging on his lips as he waves Derek inside the house. When Derek walks in, a wave of memories washes over him, even though the house doesn’t look exactly the same. There are reminders of the past though, not that he expected them not to be around. But the house looks and feels different too. 

Derek takes a deep breath — he’s pretty sure John notices, judging by the small smirk — and tries to figure out all the scents in the air. There’s the familiar one that belongs to the Sheriff, a hint of Scott’s, and a few others from the pack — Lydia only barely, Kira, Malia, _Chris’s mingled with Melissa’s and John’s_. The last one gives him pause and he glances at John, who’s grabbing a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. 

“Right, son, I know this does nothing for you, but have a drink with me anyway?” 

Derek nods, his brain still processing the scents. He gets a sense of Jackson and Ethan, a scent marker older than the others, but if Derek was to guess it isn’t more than a few months old. It surprises him almost as much as the adults’ mixed one, because neither of them mentioned being in Beacon Hills recently. 

“So, what brings you here?” John asks as he hands Derek a glass. “I didn’t think we’d see you again, unless there was an emergency.”

“I’m taking it from your words that there hasn’t been one in a while,” Derek says, smiling. 

“Nothing the kids couldn’t handle,” John confirms. “Then again, we did eliminate the biggest threats while Stiles was still in high school.”

The mention of Stiles makes Derek gulp nervously. He’s expecting John to be looking at him with suspicion, but he only finds an expression that seems to be fondness. The few years between Derek’s return to town and his final departure aren’t something that _he_ would think of fondly, but he’s not brave enough to ask John about it. 

“Who’s still in town these days?” He asks instead, hoping that it will give him the answers he wants, even though he doesn’t ask directly.

“Me, obviously,” John points out. “Melissa, Chris.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve seen you scenting the house, you _know_ ,” John tells him. “And I’m sure we’re both going to be happier if you don’t ask for details.” 

Derek nods.

“Scott’s not far, though he’s still finishing college,” John continues. “Lydia and Malia visit, whenever they’re not busy with whatever it is they’re up to. I never tried to understand what Lydia’s field of study is,” he says with amusement. “And Malia’s been traveling. With your uncle, surprisingly. Who, as far as I’m concerned, can stay wherever he is, as long as it’s not in my jurisdiction.”

“Jordan still on the force?” Derek asks when John pauses. 

“He is. On his way to eventually take over for me.” 

John then mentions a few of the younger pack members briefly, but Derek barely remembers them, so he doesn’t pay much attention. There are others too, ones he never met, adopted into the pack from a variety of places. And it’s not that Derek doesn’t care about them. He does, as little as he knows any of them. 

It’s just that he really wants to ask about the one person that John _didn’t_ mention, but he doesn’t know how without also bringing up that one night in New York. 

“You’re not as subtle as you think, son,” John says, interrupting Derek’s thoughts. 

“What?” Derek lifts his head, realizing that he’s been staring at the floor for the past few moments. 

“I’m pretty sure I know who you really want to ask about, judging by the way your face looks like you’re constipated,” John tells him, smiling softly. “And I don’t think that’s really an issue for you shifters.” 

Derek’s mouth twitches in a wry smile, but while John is right, admitting it is another thing. 

“He’s not here,” John says, confirming Derek’s suspicion based on his earlier scenting. “I’ve got a phone number though, if you want to get in touch.” 

“Where…” Derek starts, but stops when John shakes his head.

“Not my place. Call him. If he wants to share where to find him, he’ll tell you.” 

It’s more than Derek expected before he came to town, really, so he nods and accepts the piece of paper with a number scribbled on it. It’s a local number, which catches him off guard. 

“Why…” he starts again, and as before the question remains unspoken.

“Ask him. If he wants you to know, he will. It’s the same thing I told Lydia, Scott, Malia, and even Kira when she stopped by,” John says. 

“Okay,” Derek concedes. “I’ll do that.” 

They both fall silent then, sipping on the honey-colored liquid. A short while later, a car pulls up in the driveway, the sound pulling Derek out of his thoughts. John reacts to Derek’s movement and follows his gaze towards the front door.

“Ah, Mel is early,” he mutters, putting the glass down on the table. 

It’s not just Melissa who walks in moments later. Right behind her is Chris Argent, and Derek nods at him, the greeting considerably cooler than the hug that he lets Melissa pull him into. While they teamed up before, and while Derek knows by now that Chris isn’t the enemy that the rest of his family was to werewolves, there are some wounds that are unlikely to heal completely. 

Derek gets asked to stay for dinner then, but he politely declines. It’s not only because he wants to get out and call the number that is burning a hole in his pocket. It’s also that he feels like he’s intruding when he watches John, Melissa, and Chris move around each other with obvious familiarity and comfort. The intimacy of some of their gestures is enough to make Derek a little uncomfortable, a reminder of what he didn’t have in a long time. 

So, instead of sticking around he heads out to a local bed and breakfast, checks in, and then spends half of the evening staring at the number he got from John. Then, in a moment of bravery, he types it into his phone and presses the call button. 

“‘Lo?” 

Stiles’s voice sounds tired, sleepy. Derek quickly glances at his watch, but it’s not late enough to warrant his momentary panic about waking Stiles up with the call.

“Hi,” he says, if only to prevent Stiles from wondering if he’s getting pranked. 

Then he realizes that they’re adults, and that it’s probably not all that likely to be something that’s on Stiles’s mind. He also gives himself a mental slap for not thinking about his number being changed, just as Stiles’s has. 

“It’s Derek,” he adds, hearing nothing but the sound of Stiles’s breathing on the other end of the line. 

“Oh,” Stiles says then, breath hitching a little. “Hi.”

It’s flat, it’s unemotional, and it makes Derek reconsider the call. But he’s already there, so he figures he’s got little to lose by trying to start a conversation.

“How are you?” 

“So, you’re back,” Stiles says, ignoring the question. 

Not that Derek really asked to get a simple answer. He asked because he doesn’t know what else to start with.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Flew back last weekend.” 

“It’s been a while,” Stiles says, still keeping his voice clear of any emotion. “How did you find me?” 

“I’m in Beacon Hills,” Derek tells him, and the fact sounds strange to his own ears. “I went to your place. Met with your Dad.”

“Not my place anymore,” Stiles says, so quietly that Derek is pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be heard. “Huh. Didn’t expect that,” he adds, a little louder.

“Me to be here, or your Dad to give me your number?” Derek asks, wondering if either of the things were something that Stiles actively didn’t _want_. 

“Both. Either. It’s been a while,” Stiles says, sounding like he’s lost in thought.

“You said that already.”

“It’s still true.” 

“Why are you back?” Stiles asks then, bluntly, without hesitation. 

“Assignment ended, I got time off,” Derek tells him. 

“But why Beacon Hills? Why not…” Stiles pauses, then he clears his throat. “Why not South America? New York? Why here?”

_Here_ , Derek thinks. _He’s in town then. Or close._

Then he wonders if he should be as blunt as Stiles was when he asked. Whether honesty is the best way to go, or if he should try spinning a different story. 

He goes for honesty. 

“I wanted to see you.” 

“Oh.” 

Finally, there’s something in Stiles’s voice, and it sounds a lot like surprise. 

“Is that… would that be okay with you?” Derek asks, not trying to pretend that he didn’t catch Stiles’s slip about being _here_. 

He hears nothing but breathing again, shaky and fast, then shuffling like Stiles stands up and paces. Derek waits, afraid to break the tension and make it explode in a bad way. He listens to Stiles’s heart, a faint sound over the phone, and he catches a skip or two. Derek knows that it means that Stiles is trying to lie to himself, but about what is something that he doesn’t dare to guess. He also knows better than to point it out. 

“Okay,” Stiles says finally. “Yeah, okay.” 

Derek realizes that he’s been holding his own breath for longer than is healthy, even for a werewolf. His voice is unsteady when he speaks again.

“Where? What’s best for you?” 

Again, there’s a pause, hesitation on Stiles’s end. Then he says something that Derek never would or could have expected.

“Can you drive out to the Preserve? Just past where your house used to be,” Stiles explains. “It’s only one dirt road. You won’t miss it.” 

“I can,” Derek says, though he’s still processing the information. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Around noon?” 

“I’ll be there,” Derek promises. 

He’s never meant something as much as he means those three words. 

-*-*-*-

The drive up to the Preserve is slower than the one through Beacon Hills was. Derek can’t pretend it’s because he doesn’t know the way as well as he knows the streets in the town. He is familiar with the road leading towards the woods, with the spot where it gives way to only dirt under the Camaro’s wheels. When he drives past where his childhood home once stood, he slows down. There’s nothing but an empty space now, the ruins long gone, torn down by the County that took possession of that part of the land. 

He still owns most of the Preserve though, even if only in name. It’s protected, a space that he wanted to keep out of developers’ hands, a memorial to his family. 

The place that Stiles directed him to is still on the part of the land that isn’t Derek’s anymore, less than half a mile from where his home once was. When Derek’s past the open space of the old house’s location, he can’t see any further than the closest turn, the road narrow and winding. The border of what’s _his_ is close, he knows it from the times that he discussed the ownership with lawyers, but he can also feel the pull of the connection to it, to his blood right. 

Finally, the trees still thick around the road, he sees a spot of lightness when he makes yet another turn. One more, and he emerges from the forest, into a small open space with a building right in the middle. It’s not _new_ , he realizes when he looks at it properly, it’s been there for decades, though not occupied by anyone most of the time. 

He forgot it was there. His parents’ getaway cottage, the place they went to for alone time, the place they used to offer to visitors when the main house was too full. 

Derek slows the car to a stop and gets out, eyes barely leaving the cottage, fingers clenched around the car keys. Then, still hesitant, he starts walking closer, all the while taking in the place he apparently sold without remembering it was there. It’s being fixed up, he notices, the buckets of paint on the porch and piles of wood a giveaway of the ongoing repairs. 

But it also looks like someone’s living there. The small chimney on top is letting out a thin wisp of smoke, there are curtains in the front window, and a baby blue Jeep parked to the side.

_Stiles_.

The thought makes Derek’s steps hasten and he’s at the door in a few strides, knuckles rapping on the wood with urgency but not too much force. It opens almost immediately, and if they weren’t in the middle of the woods where a car can be heard from a long distance away, Derek would wonder if Stiles was waiting for him, or if he’s been turned and has better hearing now. The latter becomes a non-issue anyway when Derek takes a deep breath and the familiar scent washes over him. 

“Hi,” he croaks out, his throat dry and his hands shaking. 

“Hey,” Stiles says.

He looks tired, deep circles under his eyes, like he didn’t sleep the night before. Derek didn’t do much of that either, but seeing Stiles like this sets him on edge. He remembers other times when the exhaustion took a toll — nightmares, the Nogitsune, John being in danger — and none of the memories are doing much right now to ease the tension in Derek’s chest. 

Stiles pushes the door open further, and Derek takes a slow step forward. His arms twitch at his sides, the urge to pull Stiles into a hug strong, but he waits a beat, then exhales when Stiles moves closer. When Derek wordlessly opens his arms, Stiles steps right in, wraps his own arms around Derek, and rests his chin on Derek’s shoulder, then he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Missed you,” Derek mutters, not sure if it’s loud enough for Stiles to hear. 

He’s about to say it again, a little louder, when there’s a creaking sound from the other side of the room, and Stiles freezes in Derek’s arms.

A million options run through Derek’s mind, but the one that it turns out to be isn’t one of them. There’s a door — to a kitchen, Derek recalls — that moves, opens just a fraction, and it takes him a moment to look down, to about the middle of the door’s height. 

He sees the hair first, the same brown that is right next to his face but longer, a mess of curls obscuring the face of the little girl it belongs to. Then she looks up and Derek’s the one who freezes, because the eyes that meet his are the same as the ones he knows from when he looks in a mirror. 

His arms slide off Stiles’s shoulders, and he barely notices that he’s moving aside. Then he feels his knees wobble and he lets himself slide to the floor, never breaking eye contact with the girl. She’s still moving, fingers clutched around a doll, feet shuffling on the floor. 

When Derek opens his arms again, slower and with hesitation, she smiles brightly and takes off, running right at him, doll dropped a few strides in. 

“Poppa,” she mumbles when she reaches him, and her tiny arms fling out to wrap around Derek’s neck with enthusiasm. 

Derek hugs her back, just holds her for a few beats. Then, when he feels like he’s caught his breath, he slowly starts getting up, holding her tightly since she’s refusing to let go. He turns, expecting Stiles to still be right there, but he only finds the front door closed again, Stiles’s silhouette in the window next to it. Derek sighs and walks out, shifting the girl to his side as he moves so he has a hand free. She grumbles, but then settles in and buries her face into his neck, sniffing at his skin. 

_Werecub_ , Derek thinks, half terrified and half elated. 

Stiles is leaning against the outside wall, head against the glass of the window behind him and eyes closed, taking deep breaths like he’s on the verge of panic. 

“Hey,” Derek says. 

Stiles opens his eyes slowly, and Derek _hates_ the expression he’s seeing. There’s fear, there’s a glassiness that means tears. 

“You gonna introduce me?” 

Stiles blinks like he can’t believe that _that_ is what Derek’s asking. Then he shakes his head and smiles weakly. 

“She didn’t do it herself? I’m surprised,” he says. “Derek, this is Lia.” 

Derek nods, then takes a deep breath, taking in her scent.

“Is she…?” 

He’s not sure why he’s asking, he already knows the answer from her scent and from the way she looks. But there’s a small part of him that needs to hear it. 

“Yours?” Stiles asks, then continues before Derek can even nod. “Yeah, she is. Turns out I’m magic in ways I never imagined anyone could be.” 

Derek doesn’t know what to do with the statement, but it’s not the first time he’s heard about the possibility. He just never heard about it happening outside of a pack, outside an established bond between a werewolf and a Spark or Druid. Which isn’t something he thought he had with Stiles before, or even now. 

“I tried to reach out,” Stiles tells him, in a tone so quiet and soft that for a brief moment Derek wonders if he should be worried about how untypical it is of the Stiles he remembers. “I mean, after New York. I’m sorry I left that morning.”

“I figured you were called in for a job,” Derek tells him. 

Because he did, but it still stings that Stiles never even left a note.

“I thought I’d just be in for a strategy meeting when the boss called,” Stiles explains, like he knows what Derek is thinking. “Turned out that I was on a plane probably before you woke up. And when I got back, you were out of reach. Or so I was told.”

“Alaska. Then Europe. Until last week,” Derek tells him. 

“Long time for an assignment,” Stiles says, still quiet enough that Derek’s senses are slowly shifting into alert mode. 

“You’ve changed,” he says, unable to hold back the observation any longer. 

Stiles shrugs. 

“You’re quiet. It’s unsettling,” Derek explains. “The last time you were like this….”

He doesn’t finish the thought, doesn’t need to. They both still remember the way the Nogitsune took away all of Stiles’s usual fidgeting and made his movements fluid, smooth. How it was something that they all realized they should have noticed more. 

“It’s not that,” Stiles replies quickly. “I just…” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “I didn’t expect you here. I don’t know….”

He sounds worried, afraid, and Derek wants to pull him into another hug, but he still has Lia tucked against his side, and he doesn’t want to let her go. 

“I’m not angry,” he says, the only thing he can think of right now. “It’s not like you kept her a secret on purpose.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were mad,” Stiles says, turning his gaze to the ground. “It’s a pretty big thing not to tell you.” 

“Yeah, maybe. But I know where I was until last week, and how hard it was to get in touch with me.” 

“The pack knows,” Stiles admits. “Well, those who were in town in the past two years.” 

“Which, going by the scents in your Dad’s house, is almost everyone,” Derek says. 

Stiles nods, still looking at his feet.

“Look, do you _want_ me to be angry?” Derek asks after a pause. 

“I just can’t see how you wouldn’t be,” Stiles says, lifting his head. “I don’t want that, and I’ve tried to get hold of you, but it’s also not something that I wanted to pass on by messenger.” 

“What did you do about work, anyway?” Derek asks, suddenly realizing that it’s not likely that Stiles is still going on assignments. 

“Indefinite leave,” Stiles tells him. “Rafael knows, my immediate bosses do too, obviously. I’m kind of lucky that at least with the division I’m in, it wasn’t impossible to explain.”

“That couldn’t have been an easy conversation,” Derek says. 

“Well, the one with Dad was a little more interesting,” Stiles says, throwing a wry smile in Derek’s direction.

It’s like someone poured a bucket of cold water over Derek at those words, and he replays the conversation with the Sheriff from the day before in his mind. 

“How did he not shoot me on sight?” 

The words are out before he can think about them, and Stiles chuckles. 

“If you’d been there before, he would have, probably,” he says. “He did have a while to adjust. And Lia here seems to have made up for any objections he had. I did have to swear to him that nothing happened before I left Beacon Hills though.” 

Derek still feels the chill down his spine, but it’s fading quickly.

“I didn’t mention that it wasn’t for the lack of wanting,” Stiles mutters. 

It’s quiet again, but Derek can hear it clearly, and he blurts out a “what?” immediately. 

Stiles shrugs again, like he didn’t just admit something major. 

“You… what? I thought….” Derek stumbles over the words.

_He_ wanted Stiles before, liked him way earlier than that night in New York. He just didn’t think the feelings were reciprocated then, nor that they had been before that. 

“Dude, you’re pretty much the reason I figured out I was bi,” Stiles says nonchalantly. “I thought you knew.”

“How would I have known?” Derek asks, still a little shocked. 

“Scents, stuff,” Stiles says. “I wasn’t exactly the epitome of subtle about anything in my life.” 

“Guess I wasn’t paying attention,” Derek mutters. 

“Ouch, man, that hurts.”

Stiles’s voice is lighter, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders when Derek didn’t react badly. He’s still tense, still seems unsure, but he doesn’t look as worn out as he did when he first opened the door. 

“I didn’t _let myself_ pay attention,” Derek admits. “Not before we left town.” 

Stiles lifts an eyebrow, curiosity and surprise mixing in his expression. 

“You were seventeen,” Derek says, and watches as Stiles’s face shows understanding. “Your Dad still _is_ the law, and you were… well, seventeen.” 

“Wasn’t once we were in senior year,” Stiles points out. 

“And I wasn’t here then. Plus, you had Lydia,” Derek says. “Then when we were back to help Scott, I assumed you and her were still together.”

“How did you even know about that?” 

“Scott.”

“Why did Scott feel the need to keep you updated on my love life?” Stiles asks, sounding like there’s a call he’ll be making to his best friend in the near future. Then he freezes, his eyes widening. “Wait, did Scott know you were into me?” 

Derek nods, cheeks burning. 

“Ooooh, I’m gonna talk to him,” Stiles says, eyes narrowed and voice more steady than it was throughout the entire conversation so far. 

“I don’t think he approved,” Derek mutters. “As you can remember, Scott’s never been my biggest fan. He figured it out way before you all graduated.” 

“Not his call. Not my Dad’s call, as I’ve told _him_.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, and he smiles a little when he realizes that Lia’s hold on him has loosened because she fell asleep. 

He’s not sure if he’s apologizing for not telling Stiles about being interested, or about the current situation. There are so many things that could’ve gone differently between them if they’d both been upfront. But Derek also can’t help but wonder how much _worse_ it could have been. When he first noticed Stiles, saw him as someone interesting romantically, they were both not in a place where a relationship could have worked, for a multitude of reasons. Later, after the fight with Gerard and his recruits, there was no time — they were both almost immediately pulled into other assignments as the supernatural division of the FBI took shape. 

His own history of relationships has little to offer in terms of reassurance that they would’ve been able to manage something healthy. Derek knows that he needed the time he had the past few years to learn that he _could_ trust others. Because while he trusted Stiles — and a few select others — with his _life_ for a long time, his heart was a whole different matter. 

“Are you sorry that you never told me, or that…” Stiles nods at Lia. 

“Not her, no,” Derek says, maybe a little too fast, but there’s no room for hesitation. 

He may have only met her, but he already has an attachment. Partly because she smells like him, like his family used to, and partly because the other half of her scent is the same as Stiles’s. Combined, sleeping against him, she feels like a piece of home. 

“So, what now?” Stiles asks. 

“That depends,” Derek tells him. 

“On what?”

Derek gulps down the dread that’s rising in his throat. He knows that no matter what, he needs to know the answer to what he is about to ask. Whatever it is. 

“Do you want me to stay?” 

The question hangs between them for a few seconds — an eternity, if Derek’s mind is concerned — and Stiles’s face goes through a whole rainbow of emotions, half of which Derek can’t even begin to untangle. 

“Stay like, in town? With us? Stay _how_?” Stiles finally volleys questions back at Derek. 

“Whatever way you’ll have me,” he says, not hesitating. “For Lia, for friendship, for help, for _you_. It’s up to you.” 

“What do _you_ want, Derek? And don’t say it doesn’t matter. If you stay, this can’t be unbalanced,” Stiles tells him. 

“Us,” Derek says quietly after a beat. “I want to see what _we_ can be. You, me, her, all of us.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods. “I can… we can do that.” 

They stand there for another while, just looking at each other. Derek is yet again overwhelmed with the wish to pull Stiles closer — the circles under his eyes are still there, even though the eyes themselves are brighter now, less fatigued. 

“You got somewhere to go now?” Stiles asks finally, pushing himself away from the wall. 

Derek shakes his head.

“All yours,” he says, and there’s a blip in Stiles’s heartbeat, one that makes Derek’s own speed up and stutter a little. 

He means it. He said those words before, to others, but he’s never meant them as much as he does now. Whether Stiles only wants him around for Lia, whether they will try to build on the friendship and partnership they had a few years ago, or whether Stiles wants to try for a relationship, Derek’s here for any and all of it. 

“Let’s get her to her bed first,” Stiles looks at Lia, still napping where she’s tucked against Derek’s chest. “Then you can tell me where you’ve been until last week. I have a feeling there are stories to tell.” 

“Need to know only,” Derek says, teasing. 

“You better not be trying to pull that crap with me,” Stiles says, eyes narrowed at Derek. “Especially not when it’s about your Betas.”

“Wait, what _do_ you know about where I’ve been?” Derek asks, suddenly confused. 

Stiles laughs, and then he wordlessly reaches his arms out to take Lia. Derek shakes his head, and instead offers his own hand. For a beat, Stiles is looking at it in surprise, but then he slips his fingers between Derek’s own, and they head inside. 

“No, seriously, what do you know about where I was?” Derek asks again as they pass through the door. 

Stiles laughs again, and Derek realizes that he’s willing to keep asking, if only to hear the sound of that laugh again. 

-*-*-*-

[3 years later]

“You could help, you know,” Stiles says, but there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s up on a little step, one of the many that are around their house, and his arms are straining up, towards the top of the lush tree. There’s a myriad of colors standing out against the green of the tree itself, baubles and ornaments of different mismatched shapes. 

“You and Claud seem to have it under control,” Derek tells him, lowering the phone in his hands. “I’m just working on preserving the memories.” 

“Me too!” Lia pipes up, hands wrapped around the legs of the step that Stiles is on. 

“And you, baby,” Derek says warmly, smiling at her. 

Above her, Stiles wobbles as he raises up on tiptoes, his hands in a steady grip around Claud’s sides. Claud, undeterred by the slight lack of balance, continues reaching out to put yet another bauble on the already filled tree.

“Good, Da?” 

Stiles turns to his son and nods as he looks at the bauble. 

“Perfect,” he tells Claud, and he brings his arms down at the same time as his heels lower to the step. “And I think we’re done,” Stiles then adds, glancing down at Lia. 

She looks up at him, then at the tree. Still holding on to the step, she tilts her head and narrows her eyes. 

“It’s okay,” she says.

“High praise there,” Stiles mumbles, turning Claud so he can get a firmer grip as the toddler starts to squirm.

“Down, Da,” Claud orders, and Derek chuckles quietly. 

“Yeah, I think you guys are done.” 

Stiles throws him an amused look, then steps down to the ground, feet sliding into the slippers that Lia is now holding out for him. He puts Claud down on the floor, and the kids promptly rush out of the living room. Derek takes their place by Stiles’s side, phone tucked away in his pocket, and he slides an arm around Stiles’s waist. 

“The tree looks great,” he mutters. 

“It’s… special,” Stiles says with a smile, glancing at the decorations that are everywhere. 

“I don’t think you used all of the baubles though,” Derek says with a chuckle, knocking his toe against a box on the floor, where a few more of the decorations are stashed.

“Shhh,” Stiles lets out, then leans in to kiss Derek. 

When he pulls away, Derek’s face is lit up with a smile as bright as the lights on the tree. 

“The kids might hear you,” Stiles says, trying — and failing — to look unhappy. 

“I’m sure I could bring another tree in,” Derek whispers. “There could be one on the top landing,” he points out. 

Stiles looks up along the staircase in the corner of the living room. 

“I think we’ll be okay with this one,” he says, nodding towards the tree next to them. “We _can_ put lights up on the banister though,” he adds. 

“I’m just saying, there’s space,” Derek says. “There’s a lot of it.” 

“Just the perfect amount for us,” Stiles tells him, dropping a quick kiss to Derek’s cheek. 

“Perfect for our first Christmas here?” 

Stiles only nods. They’ve had Christmases together since that day when Derek returned to Beacon Hills. There was the first one with only them and Lia, in the cottage where Stiles lived when Derek came back. Then the next one, with the proof that werewolf DNA and Stiles’s spark mixed in just the right way to grow a little person inside him under an ugly Christmas sweater that Stiles refused to give up that year. Another one with baby Claud wrapped in a blanket in Stiles’s arms — he’d only been allowed to sit by the fireplace and hold his son that year. 

And now, it’s another first. Over the past year, Derek worked on building a new house where the Hale mansion used to stand. Smaller than his childhood home used to be, but big enough to host not only them but also the rest of the pack. Or at least those who promised to visit over the holidays. They’d use the cottage too, for those who don’t live in town, just like Derek’s parents used it for visiting family and friends. 

Derek looks around the living room, then up to the landing above them. He can hear Lia and Claud in their playroom, Lia giggling, Claud babbling. Then he looks back at Stiles and smiles before he leans in for another kiss. 

“Ew, Poppa, no smooches!” Lia interrupts them. 

Derek pulls away from Stiles’s lips, ignoring the pout on his husband’s face, and watches as Stiles turns to her, expression changing into a grin.

“Can I smooch you?” Stiles asks, turning away from Derek.

Lia squeals and runs off, not waiting for Stiles to start moving towards her. Derek watches them both go, then turns to the pictures on the wall. There are quite a few of the kids, some of the pack — he smiles with a hint of sadness at the ones of those who aren’t with them anymore — and then there’s one that he’s still amazed by. 

Somewhere in the depths of the Sheriff’s station archives, there was a photo that Derek didn’t know existed. It was a clipping from the local newspaper, from the time after the fire. Derek thought that the majority of the photos perished in the flames, and the few preserved in the vault were only of the older generations of his family. But Stiles, with John’s help, managed to dig out this one. All of the Hale family around the time that Derek met Paige, at a town event. Talia, Cora, Laura, Peter… and everyone else, including a grumpy-looking teenaged Derek. Stiles laughed when he gave Derek the photo — cleaned up and framed.

“Good to know the sourwolf expression is permanent,” he said, then laughed harder when Derek scowled at him. 

It was the first Christmas present that he got from Stiles. The first, but far from the last. 

Derek looks away from the photo and listens for the sounds of his family. When he hears the laughter and giggles, he heads out in their direction, already smiling. With one last glance towards the mismatched tree, he thinks of his Mom, and he smiles more when the echo of her words from that time when he talked to her thanks to her claws runs through his mind.

_Find happiness, baby boy. That’s all that matters._

Derek — still listening to Stiles’s laugh, Claud’s giggles, and Lia’s happy squeals — thinks that he can’t imagine being any happier than he is now.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://froggydarren.tumblr.com/) || [my sterek fic tumblr](http://triggeringthehealing.tumblr.com/)


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